Cuffed
by Mill Girl
Summary: Miranda and Andrea discover the pros and cons of a closer working environment
1. Chapter 1

A.N.

Disclaimer. I own none of the characters and have no financial interest in them. I am simply grateful for being allowed to have some fun with them.

A/U. Set before Paris. I don't think Andy will hang on to her job long enough to be allowed to go to Paris!

Chapter One.

She had tried Commandos, they had already run a feature on Navy Seals, and if she wasn't careful, Coastguards were likely poised to provide the next wretched theme for a Runway photo shoot. Everyone in the media those days seemed to relish the undercurrents of war, violence, terrorist attacks and general misery and mayhem. It seemed the readers of Runway would not be allowed to avoid the same bandwagon.

The forecast for the next season's fashions seemed to be only about militarism and grunge. Editor-in Chief Miranda detested both, and as the so-called Queen of New York fashion, she resented that they were "In". She thought she was supposed to set the trends, not be forced to follow them.

"Is it too much to ask for you to find positive stories about the emergency services? I suppose we could focus on fire-fighters, but their outfits are horrendous. You can't do much with a fire helmet, helmets in general. People who wear helmets. Girls in helmets. Should we run a feature on those?"

Miranda perched at the head of a large oval table in the editorial conference room at Runway's Manhattan office. She refused to sit in her chair. This position enabled her to look down at her senior staff sitting positioned in order of seniority around her.

All eyes were on her, their glorious leader. There was much gripping of pens hovering over note pads. It was supposed to be a brain-storming session.

Miranda glanced round and saw the absence of any notes on the notepads. Nobody had any ideas for the new issue, no evidence of brains, storming or even drizzling. She'd been driven to ever greater extremes of self-parody, but it wasn't even recognised as such.

"Maybe astronauts or deep sea divers," said one brave soul

_(Please, somebody, say something sensible for once.) _

To her left, there was a little cough. Her younger second assistant Andrea was there to take minutes, not venture an opinion. Miranda gave her one of her most condescending stares.

"Hmm? You have something you wish to contribute to this "discussion?" She did love to bait Andrea, to make a blush rise up her delightful, unmade up cheek. It was rather sadistic, but fun, and it always worked. Andrea's naturally strong voice sank to a whisper to match her own.

"If we went to the NYPD, they have lots of good stories, about acts of bravery and kindness. I saw one on the TV news last night, about this female officer who rescued a child from a storm drain . . . . And the uniforms are kind of sexy . . . "

She dried up and her voice faded, as the beautiful ones round the table raised their eyebrows. Everyone knew how dykes loved police uniforms. It was a code for a lot of things no-one was going to mention in a mainstream fashion magazine. The fashionista editorial team waited for Miranda to toss her head in derision, or maybe let them know they could run with this idea.

She spoke, the oracle spoke. "Police. Well. Banal but some scope for imaginative back-drops."

They began to endorse and feed the idea. "Holding cells." "Light through barred windows." "Features on women's progress in the Force." "Modern day Cagney and Lacey". "Who?!" "Guns, boots, handcuffs" "Black Leather." "Squad cars."

Andy's journalism degree speedwriting module came into its own, as she took down the various ideas and followed the various conversations. She thought they all sounded slightly mad.

Beside her, Miranda bit the edge of her glasses frame, and gazed at her assistant's bent head and tangled hair. Didn't the girl own a comb for God's sake? She shook herself free of the thought of Andrea in black leather and looked round the table again.

"Right, I want a fully formed concept on my desk by tonight, to fit in with the current collections. And keep to budget. I'm not having Irv bellowing at me, like he did over Argentina last time. That's all."

The chairs scraped back, and her people fled. Only Andrea kept writing, with her cheap plastic ballpoint, until she'd finished her notes. Miranda sat on the table next to her, swinging her leg. They seemed to do this often, sit for a few moments in mutual silence. It unnerved Andrea. What it did to Miranda remained a mystery.

"Well, what?"

Miranda asked the question she could see Andrea was itching to answer.

"I thought I might chase up the police officer story about the storm drain. She looked nice. On the news. She might enjoy being interviewed."

"And when did_ your_ responsibilities extend to editorial, pray?"

Miranda for some reason did not think she wanted to encourage Andrea to chase up "nice" female police officers.

"I could do it in my own time. When I leave Runway next year, you know, I hope to do some more. . (She nearly caught herself saying "proper") . . . journalism."

"When you leave? What right do you think you have to say when you'll leave?"

Oh no, Miranda was going into dragon mode. She could see smoke beginning to rise already.

"I understand this is only a year's placement. Emily says I shouldn't expect to make it that long if I don't sharpen up."

"Hmm. That may be true. For a start, at least go to the beauty department and ask them for a comb. You look like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards."

Miranda then swept out, leaving Andrea embarrassed but also amused. "That's all," she could hear her call behind her as she went back to her office out of earshot.

Andrea went to Walgreen's drug-store in her tiny lunch break and bought herself a new brush and comb set. It was far too scary to ask the princesses in the beauty department for such a thing. But she did take the initiative to look up the name of the police officer she'd mentioned, and set about finding out how to contract her.

Following the meeting, various theatrical props pertaining to TV police dramas started appearing in Runway corridors, along with a large boxful of general paraphernalia, badges, holsters, dummy guns, tasers, and handcuffs, which the cleaners deposited on Andrea's desk when they polished the office floors.

The concept had been accepted, and the idea began to incubate. A piece about women in the NYPD fighting misogyny was suggested from editorial, and some delightful frothy dresses against a backdrop of a police precinct HQ routine were proposed by the art department. There were so many "Law and Order" lookalike TV shows being made in New York, that the props were easy to assemble, ready for a shoot in a week or so's time.

A summer heatwave invaded the city over the next few days. Everyone in New York seemed irritable, sticky, and almost happy to stay at work late into the evening if it meant they could remain in air-conditioned offices.

Miranda a for once did not ask for centre-of –the–earth-hot coffee but switched her Starbucks orders to Frappuccinos, after Andrea bought her one to test. She sipped it, preparing to pull a face, but then realised she was converted. Her blue eyes crinkled with pleasure, she smiled and Andy thought she looked gorgeous. She gave an inner high five to herself. _"Yesss!"_

"Hmm, that's quite acceptable. I also see you've paid some attention to your personal grooming. Well done."

Andrea nearly fell over. Her hair was tightly plaited into a braid and pinned up round her head, purely for the sake of coolness. It was the very first word of praise Miranda had ever given her in six months, not for her work, her organisational skills, her repeated acts of miraculously pulling rabbits out of hats, but for braiding up her hair!

She stuttered and fell into the next sentence before she considered it. "I thought I would cut it all off anyway if the heat wave continues. I've worn it like this since grade school. I know it's a mess."

Miranda had liked the new hair-do purely because it revealed Andrea's beautiful neck and collar bones. She'd been fantasizing about hanging emerald ear-rings to dangle against said neck.

She stopped drinking the iced coffee and her smile turned to a furious glare.

"You certainly are _not_ going to cut your hair. You're not even going to think about it. Many girls would die for hair like yours. You just need to look after it, comb it once in a while."

Andrea was not going down without a fight.

"Pixie cuts are in. If I did not have to wash my hair to straighten it every morning, I could give so much more time to being a better Assistant for you." She smiled sweetly.

Miranda refused to be led deeper into the marsh of personal dialogue with her second assistant. She couldn't imagine how it had come about anyway. She would never have condescended to make similar observations to Emily, her first assistant, even about her reckless use of primary colours in her eyeshadow, or her constant extreme dieting.

"Stop being ridiculous," was all she said, but whether she was addressing herself or Andrea she was unclear. "That's all."

The heatwave deepened. Jackets were discarded. Sleeves were avoided. The clackers reverted to ribbon shoulder straps, and wore frocks which by rights should have been classified as beach wear.

Andy came to work stripped down to a tank top and linen skirt. Her arms were toned and sun-tanned from Sundays playing soft-ball in a lower Bronx ladies team, and her legs were bare. The air-con was turned up to maximum, until their CEO Irv complained about the cost, so it was lowered again making the temperature rise until they all sweated profusely.

Miranda, whose ancestry was obviously Viking, and who was approaching the menopause, suffered more than most. She wore sleeveless linen shirt-waist dresses, and carried a bottle of chilled Pellegrino water to press against her cheek and neck when things became too hot to handle. But her ivory skin was permanently damp. And her hair drooped languidly over her eyes.

The weekend was approaching and she realised she had what one might call a "situation". Andy and Emily regularly acted as a pair of minders when she attended official functions, researching the key players beforehand, and buffering her against having to spend too much time talking to any one boring person.

Miranda's pain threshold for tedium was extremely low, too low really for someone who needed to network as part of her job description. She had never in her life been known to suffer a fool gladly, and she met a lot of fools.

The Saturday event in her calendar that week was a major reception at the French Consulate on Fifth Avenue, which was hosting the fashion movers and shakers from New York to a party to meet young French designers wanting to make further inroads into the US market.

Miranda needed to be there. Runway had four reservations. But Nigel, the Art Director was away in Toronto researching a Christmas special and Emily had succumbed to extreme hay fever. She was sneezing and spluttering in a most undignified way all day, despite constant doses of anti-histamine medicine.

Even Miranda's most sadistic tendencies were neutralized by her misery.

"Oh for heaven's sake, go home, lock all the doors and windows and keep out any fresh air," she instructed her on Friday afternoon. "Don't return until you can function like a normal human being."

Emily sneezed for the eleventh time, and fled the building. Miranda then faced Andrea.

"You'll have to do it on your own. What are you wearing?"

"Are ….. Aren't you coming?"

Miranda rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Yes, of course I shall be there. You and I together. You have the folder of notes Emily prepared on the French contingent?"

"Yes."

"Well then. So, what are you wearing? "

"Um, maybe something French?"

"Yes, _that _might possibly be a good idea"

"Nigel has found me a light summer gown by Chanel."

"Where is it? Show me."

Andrea went to the closet and fetched the dress. It was a floaty number in a wispy vanilla cream colour, and stopped just above her bust, so her shoulders would be naked. She would need a strapless bra. But it was pretty and definitely not Grunge.

Miranda sniffed. "Shoes?"

"These." Andrea held up perilously high heeled silver sandals.

"They will do. You haven't any tan lines on your shoulders have you?"

Andrea tried to look down at her top and arms.

"I'm not sure."

"Well let me see."

"Huh?"

"Take off your top. You obviously can't wear a strapless dress if you're covered in sun-tan blotches. It's elementary."

"I'm not a model."

"You don't say? I hadn't realised. "

Miranda could resist any chance to throw pepper. "But you will be representing Runway. Oh for goodness sake, girl, don't keep me waiting! "

Andrea pulled off her tank top, but refused to part with her lacy bra.

Miranda approached her from behind and scrutinised her professionally. Then she slipped down the bra straps briefly before replacing them with a slight ping. She then turned her round to inspect her from the front.

Andrea's skin tingled under her fingers, but she kept her eyes up and gazed at Miranda face as she examined her. There was always so much unspoken communication between them, the silences could get quite noisy. Andrea wished it could somehow be translated into actual conversation.

There was so much she longed to ask Miranda, so much which fascinated her about her boss. But according to Emily, asking questions was a forbidden privilege. Andy had broken that rule many times in small ways without being sanctioned, but she didn't push her luck now.

"It will do. All one tone. But don't expose your skin to the sun too much in future."

Andrea's neck chest and back were all actually a delicious apricot colour. The summer sun suited her well and Miranda suddenly had an insane urge to take a nibble at the soft flesh facing her. The phrase "good enough to eat" flashed through her mind.

"Leave the dress here overnight. I don't want it spoiled by you lugging it back and forth to your apartment. We'll meet here tomorrow at six pm. We'll both change here, and then we can go over the notes before we leave for the Reception. It will start early, at seven thirty."

Andrea began to reply, but then changed her mind. She pulled her tank top back on to avoid further scrutiny, and returned to her desk. She had actually arranged to meet Sal McCarthy, the heroine police officer at six on Saturday, but perhaps Sal could manage an hour earlier in a nearby coffee shop maybe.

It remained a secret project. Andrea didn't want Miranda to know about the interview, not after her unhelpful comment earlier. But if she could produce a decent piece of writing from it, then the Editor might at least critique it for her. Getting as far as the pages of the fashion magazine was way beyond her ambitions at this stage.

They worked on through the heavy heat of the Friday afternoon. Miranda stood it until six, then said, "That's it for today. And forget the Book for this weekend. I'm packing the twins off to Camp for two weeks tomorrow, so I'll have no time anyway. "

Andrea thanked her guardian angel. All she wanted was a long cold shower and a chance to drink iced beer with her friends outside her stuffy apartment in the cool of the evening. Miranda watched her leave as she literally ran out of the door.

Oh, to be that young, to be so positive, so uncompromised. Andrea pressed all the wrong buttons for her, filled her with unworthy thoughts and such seriously unwanted desires that she could hardly bear to work alongside her. And yet she couldn't bear the thought of not seeing her every day.

She rang for her driver, gathered her bag of assorted bits and pieces, and followed her assistant out of the office.

"Forget the Book," she called out to the editorial room staff as she passed. "It's too darn hot."

They all gasped in amazement, but as soon as she had passed, whooped with joy.


	2. Chapter 2

Cuffed.

Chapter 2.

When Andy made it home, she felt like a cookie pulled from the oven just before it burned. The apartment air-conditioning consisted of one 1950s unit which roared and complained like a grumpy buffalo and was perilously close to falling off the external wall.

Nate, her soon to be ex-boyfriend, was off catering a wedding out in East Hampton, Long Island, for the weekend. His boss had called him up to join the team and she envied him the sea breezes and cooler coastal temperatures.

They'd not been on good terms for quite a while, due to her unavoidable absences and constant phone calls from Miranda. But she never said a word about his late nights at the restaurant and weekend commitments, like this one. Miranda's need for her to attend the French Consulate function had slipped in later, relieving her of the need to ask for his truculent understanding.

Andy felt resentful at always having to apologise to him, and her family and friends for working. All her friends worked from dawn to dusk. It was the New York norm. It was just that she sometimes worked from dawn to dawn, but it would only be for a few months more. She didn't want to think about that though. Not getting her daily fix of Miranda would be very painful.

She called round her other mates to see if anyone fancied a beer on the balcony but no-one responded, so she phoned her new police officer contact.

"Look, we're supposed to go through the PR department before talking to the Press. I'm not sure".

Obviously Sal was having second thoughts. Andy stressed that she herself had not even got clearance to write the article. It wold be strictly off the record. When she tried, she could be extremely charming and her natural warmth came through.

"OK, maybe for an informal meeting over a drink."

"I can't manage 6pm tomorrow now. Are you by any chance free this evening?"

The police officer said she was. They arranged to meet at 9 at a mid-town bar with plenty of outside sitting space, and that was where Andy found herself a couple of hours later.

A long cold shower had revived her, and the air temperature had dipped to barely 90 degrees. It was bearable.

Sal was a big girl, who obviously worked out with weights. She was as strong as a horse, and as butch as they came. Andy warmed to her at once, she wasn't sure why. She just knew she had an affinity for strong minded women.

They sat together. Sal was out of uniform but still wore jeans and boots which must have been so hot. She watched Andy take out her reporter's notebook and pen advertising the Ohio state fair from the year before.

"Hey, I thought this was off the record."

"Oh, it is. Absolutely. But I just need to jot down a few things. You can see everything I write before it goes any further. "

Sal made a hurrph noise, but she liked Andy, and by the second beer was talking, not just about the incident, but about why she'd joined the force, her family, her girlfriend, the trouble they were having with girlfriend's parents. It was going well.

Then Andy's phone rang. She knew who it was at once.

"Yes, Miranda. How can I help?"

Sal kept talking, and their glasses clinked.

"Where are you?"

"Oh, just having a drink. With a . . . friend. What do you need, Miranda?"

"Ticks."

"Ticks?"

"I need you to research ticks."

Miranda never failed to amaze.

"Uh, why?"

"Don't they cause some dreadful disease? My girls are going to camp in New Hampshire. They have this sheet of paper about Lyme's Disease. I may have to stop them going. They are . . . "

Andy could hear the girls having a tizzy fit behind Miranda. One of them was crying, the other shouting.

"Anyway, get over here. I can't be dealing with this on my own."

"Sorry, Sal, I have to go. My boss. A domestic emergency."

She stood up reluctantly and put ten dollars on the table. Sal looked astonished. In her job, there was plenty of overtime required, but you knew when you were on duty and when you weren't.

Andy pulled a regretful face. "The drink was on me. Let's pick this up again soon. It was great to meet you. I really like you"

Sal took a last swig of her beer and considered Andy.

"I like you too. Sounds like we're both taken though. Who is this demanding boss? Are you on call 24/7?"

"Pretty much. Yeah. I must go. Bye."

As Andy raced off and flagged down a cruising taxi, she wondered why she had immediately dumped her new mate for Miranda. It was a mystery even to her. "25/8" she muttered to herself as she climbed Miranda's steps. So much for a night off from delivering the Book. This was worse.

"You're late."

"I came as soon as I could."

"The girls have gone to bed. I had to promise them they can still go to camp, if you can reassure me about those ticks."

Andrea couldn't help laughing. "I'm no entomologist."

Miranda looked slightly impressed with her vocabulary, but disregarded her scientific ignorance.

"Look them up then on the Internet and give me a report. "

She saw Andy had no tablet with her. "Use my laptop."

Wow, this was the Holy Grail! Miranda's notebook computer was already open on the counter, so Andy picked it up and sat at the kitchen table with it in front of her. Within a few clicks, she had found a page of articles on Lyme's Disease and how to avoid it. She also read the information sheet from the Camp authorities, and could see that they would take great care of the children on and around water. Anyway, Lyme's Disease wasn't prevalent in the area of the girls' camp.

She reassured Miranda on all points, and managed to calm her down. Really, it was something Miranda could easily have researched herself, instead of taking away her paltry one or two hours of free time between working and sleeping.

It was now well past 10pm and the night was dark and the air full of even more scary bugs and midges. An entomologist would have been happy.

Miranda had changed into a lacy top and shorts. She looked wonderful. This should have been irrelevant to Andy. It wasn't though.

"Where were you earlier?" Miranda asked out of the blue. Anyone would think she had owner's rights over Andy's comings and goings.

Andy named the bar, and the location, and then something impish made her say, "I was actually meeting with the police officer I mentioned, just socially of course. I wouldn't presume to tread on the editorial folk's toes."

Miranda rose to the challenge. She thrust a glass of chilled water towards her.

"Drink that. Well I don't approve. Gallivanting round New York. I expect she showed you her equipment no doubt, all that hard-wear, weapons?"

"She wasn't in uniform. And you interrupted us before she could show me anything."

The double entendres were flying around like plates at a Greek wedding. They were sparring with each other, and then, in the same second, both gave a half smile at the silliness.

Miranda knew she was flirting with Andy, and knew Andy knew it as well. She also knew Andy would never betray her, and enjoyed this game as much as she did. Never before had she found such a mixture of cheek and empathy from a member of staff. Her assistants were usually stylish morons, with whom she would never deign to crack a joke. Emily had been brighter than most, but she was prone to hysteria and was weirdly sycophantic towards what she imagined Miranda's needs were.

It was unnerving how Andrea on the other hand, while shy and easily embarrassed really didn't seem either terrified or resentful of her. She wished their talking could continue for longer.

Andy drank the glass of water down to the end. She stood up to leave.

"I'll call you a cab," said Miranda. "They are generally disgustingly dirty, but safer than the subway at this time of night." Then, as they went towards the front door, she added, "I am sorry for breaking up your evening with Patty Patrol officer. I just needed. . . "

"I know," said Andy. She was trying to process Miranda's first ever known apology. They had one of their little silences. Then Miranda called for the cab and it almost immediately appeared. Miranda's neighbourhood was one where the cabs cruised regularly, so unlike Andy's district.

Andy went down the steps. "I'll see you tomorrow at six then Miranda?"

"Yes. Be Prompt. I'll need time to fix your hair for the reception. I'm good with hair."

"Oh, Good. . . . thanks . . . Good . . night."

Andrea was astonished into slow monosyllabic responses. Her brain could not imagine why Miranda had ever been in a position to be "good with hair." And why was her own hair such a subject of conversation lately? It must be really hideous if Miranda felt she must fix it herself before they were seen together in public.

Well, Nigel had lifted her from the ranks of the socially unacceptable with regard to clothes, so Andy's coiffure was presumably the next challenge to Miranda's delicate sensibilities. She looked down at her finger nails nervously. Girls who played soft-ball could not go in for fancy manicures, so she hoped that wouldn't be the next project. She wouldn't put it past Miranda to be "good with nails" as well.

The night temperatures continues in the upper 80s. Neither woman slept particularly well. Both had inappropriate dreams which set them tossing and turning throughout the hours of darkness, and both woke with the other's face surprisingly imprinted on their mind. This little phenomenon bewildered them in equal measure. It also left them somewhat cheerful.


	3. Chapter 3

Cuffed.

Chapter 3.

Andrea had returned to the Runway offices by 5.00pm on Saturday afternoon. They were so much cooler than her apartment and she also wanted to center herself and read carefully through all Emily's notes of the Paris fashion scene. Emily had done a good piece of research, and Andy learned a lot.

Despite her earlier intentions, she was becoming fascinated with the world of high fashion and contemporary garment design. All the different fabrics, strange use of different materials. She'd read a year's worth of back copies of Runway, and was no longer a fashion world illiterate.

By the end of the hour she thought she would not disgrace Miranda if anyone deigned to ask her a question about the evening's designers, but she doubted they would. All she had to do was to shadow Miranda, maybe take notes, and keep her ears open.

She closed the file and then started to rummage around in the box of theatre Police props on her desk, just to see what was there. She found heavy leather belts, weapons of one sort or another, and an impressive pair of police issue hand-cuffs.

The handcuff wrist bands were on a ratchet system, to fit both big and small handed people, and they were really quite scary looking manacles. She knew from watching TV how often the accused was forced into hand-cuffs. There would be little you could do if you were wearing them. Hmm, she thought. Presumably Sal had pushed quite a few villains into a pair like these in her time.

Then she looked up. It was 6pm already. She heard the elevator start to hum and realised Miranda must be on her way up. Grabbing her dress and shoes, she ran into the staff bathroom to change. The hand-cuffs fell onto the desk.

Miranda swept down the corridor carrying her garment bag and other essentials. She disappeared into her private bathroom, glancing at Andrea's bag by her desk indicating her presence somewhere nearby, and emerged ten minutes later to find her assistant waiting ready for her. The girl looked stunning. She just needed finishing, _burnishing_ was the word which came to Miranda's mind. Nigel's choice of dress was perfect for her apricot summer tan.

"Come over here and sit down, she said, indicating her desk chair. Then she opened her bag and pulled out brush, comb, curling-tongs and a selection of barrettes and little hair ornaments.

Andrea sat as still as she could and just enjoyed Miranda's touch, as she vigorously brushed out her chestnut hair, and then divided and braided some parts of it and twisted other sections into a truly elegant chignon, like a French pleat, but modern in its look, with tendrils curling down beside her cheeks. Miranda's hands were firm but deft. She raked her fingers through the waves, until Andrea nearly purred with pleasure. Finally, Miranda finished by attaching a small ornament which matched Andy's gown, and picking up the hairspray pump.

"Close your eyes. This may take some doing. You have hair like a galloping pony's. "

Andrea chuckled. "I never heard it described like that before." She shut her eyes obediently and endured a mist of top quality hairspray directed at her head for several seconds.

Miranda then pulled her round the corner into her bathroom so she could see herself in the mirror. She stood behind her and put her hands gently on Andrea's bare shoulders.

"What do you think?"

"Wow, you've made it look so good!" Andrea couldn't help exclaiming. "Where did you . . . ?"

"From when I was fourteen, I had several Saturday jobs. One was as a shampoo girl in a salon. You pick things up. I rarely get the chance to do this anymore."

Andrea could imagine that. No-one in New York would dare ask Miranda Priestly to fix their hair for them.

She looked like a goddess now in a stunning gold lame' dress which like Andy's was strapless, so it was held in place solely by the tightness of its fit round her curves. An array of gold chains round her neck and gold earrings finished the look.

"Now do remember not to slouch, Andrea. Stand up straight and you will look quite presentable. And borrow these. They will suit you." Miranda passed Andrea a beautiful pair of drop earrings, shimmering with gold beads and tiny crystals. She slipped them in and gasped at how good they made her feel. They fell two inches on either side of her neck and encouraged her to hold her head high.

"You can stay in here to put on your make up. The mirrors in the main staff bathroom are dreadful. We need to leave shortly. "

Andrea just floated through the next few hours. She shadowed Miranda, who glided like an exquisite white swan through the company at the Consulate, and was introduced to many names so famous, even she recognised them. She had memorised Emily's notes, so when people asked her for comments, she could speak without making a fool of herself.

For the first hour or so, Miranda's hand was so constantly on her arm, that it made a mark. Everyone in the room identified her as a Runway girl, not such a clothes horse as most of them usually were, but quietly stunning. Andy was mostly unaware of the effect she was having on people, but enjoyed the company and admired the décor and the dresses swirling around her. She assumed everyone was fixated on Miranda, as she was.

She realised Miranda spoke fluent French to the French people, a courtesy few in the States ever accorded to visitors from Europe. Her accent was like a native and her conversations therefore went completely beyond what Andy could follow.

Andy had studied French for three years in High School. It meant she could read and understand the written word to some extent, but was far too shy to try to speak in anything other than English in a room full of French people. She recalled being told Miranda had worked at Runway Paris in her twenties. Of course she would speak French like a Parisian.

Andy studiously took notes, and sometimes sketched for herself some of the various designs modelled around the room. Finally Miranda was deep in conversation with some people from Paris Vogue, so she slipped away to look for a comfortable seat where she could rest her feet.

More than three and a half hours standing in four inch heels were taking their toll. She also rather fancied some of the delicious looking canapes laid out on a long buffet table. Waitresses and waiters had been circulating all evening with trays of nibbles, but Miranda had never indulged, and Andy felt she could not make a pig of herself in front of her shimmering boss.

She quietly helped herself to a plate of miniature French goodies and settled in a corner on an elegant 18th century chair to consume them. She soon found herself surrounded by a coterie of young men who she surmised must know she worked for the famous Miranda Priestly, and possibly hoped she might introduce them.

They were all ridiculously suave in their tuxedos, or in some cases, campy colored designer wear. They paid stupid compliments, and asked her what it was like working at Runway. Were there ever any vacancies? Which designers did Miranda favour most? They also kept passing her glasses of champagne, which it seemed impolite to refuse.

However, after some time fending off their attentions, it was becoming just a little too warm, and the room was swaying slightly as she stood up. She knew she had had enough, in every sense of the word.

Miranda's silent radar signal beeped at her from across the assembly room. No audible word was needed, but her raised eyebrows and tight little frown summoned Andy back to her side. The collection of beautiful young men trailed along behind her.

It was embarrassing, but she had suddenly forgotten all their names. However Miranda spared her the need to introduce them, by totally ignoring them. She gripped Andrea's upper arm, unnecessarily firmly Andy thought, and said to their French hosts. "Time to go I'm afraid. Thank you for a delightful evening. My driver is waiting." And they left. It was barely eleven and the reception would doubtless continue until at least 1 am.

Miranda said nothing as they swept down the steps. Andrea knew it was the champagne talking but she couldn't not respond to the nothing.

"Are you angry? I'm sorry. They all sort of buzzed round me. I didn't mean to leave you for long."

"Why should I be angry?" (But she clearly was.)

"I should have fetched you some food. It was delicious. Have you eaten at all today?"

"Don't fuss. It was a most satisfactory evening. There are some good promising designs coming out of Europe this year, much better than New York. On Monday I shall want you to follow up the contacts. "

"But . . . ?"

How was it she could almost always read Miranda's mind? The skill gave her too much information. There was a mighty storm brewing within those lovely blue eyes.

"But. What I fail to understand is how you seem incapable of realising what a risk you run, flaunting yourself in front of all those young men like that. One of them was mentally stripping you naked right in front of me!"

"Miranda, that's not true! There was no "flaunting". I just thought you didn't need me at your elbow the entire evening."

"I turn my back for one moment, and poof, you're gone. You're prone to far too easily disappearing all the time, and you also drank too much. I was watching you toss back all that champagne."

Miranda was being ridiculous. Andy's dander was up and she could feel herself losing her temper. She knew she had drunk too much, for her at least, for one beer could send her slightly tipsy, but she hated Miranda's implication that she some sort of loose lush.

Roy was waiting with the car, and they stepped in through different doors, both of which slammed shut just a little too firmly. He set off on the short journey back to Elias-Clarke office building. The Manhattan night was closing in for a thunderstorm. The air-pressure was stifling.

Andy continued the argument.

"I only had a few champagnes, and I only did that to be polite. And if I _was _"flaunting", which I wasn't, well, everything I'm wearing is from Runway, advertising Runway!"

"As you certainly were. Runway indeed! You always seem to be running away."

Andy snapped and said something she didn't mean. "I was there to support you. Left to myself I'd sooner be off kicking my heels at the coast in shorts and a Nike vest."

Miranda's mind did a little somersault at the mental image of Andrea on the beach. It made her even crazier.

"Ah, now the truth emerges! She didn't care for the tedious event, for dressing up, and looking presentable once in a while, meeting the cream of New York society, being introduced to the French Consul? It was obviously an imposition for Miss Sachs to support me."

"Miranda, please stop! It was a lovely evening. I learned so much. It was an honour to go with you. I didn't even know you spoke French before, and you did my hair beautifully." She knew she sounded stupid even as she spoke. Why did Miranda so easily turn her into an idiot?

"You're insufferable. I don't know why I bother with you."

The car reached the offices. Roy opened the door, and Miranda sailed out. She looked down at Andy.

"Stop sulking. Come along. I haven't got all night."

Roy helped Andy out, like a friendly uncle. They exchanged little smiles. Miranda turned in a flash.

"And don't look to Roy for support. He knows who pays his salary. Wait here for us Roy. We'll be back down in 20 minutes"

She was already marching into the building and Andy scuttled behind her. She couldn't quite identify how she felt. She did not understand why Miranda had suddenly turned from benign goddess to a jealous tyrant. Aah! Maybe that was it? Could Miranda perhaps be jealous of those silly boys? Surely not, but then….. ?

Suddenly Andy's long term prospects at Runways seemed more and more fragile, but if she was going to get fired, at least it was going to be after a fair fight. She was going to get Miranda to be real with her. She jumped into the elevator with her.

"Miranda…. "

"Be quiet. I refuse to listen to any more of your impertinence."

The elevator moved slowly skywards. It was such an old building. They rose at a glacial pace.

Andy mustered her internal forces. If she was the princess being captured by the dragon, she also had to be the prince and disarm said dragon. She crossed the elevator and deliberately invaded Miranda's space, moved so close she could inhale her perfume, and whispered.

"Miranda, let's change our clothes and then go for some pizza. I know you must be starving. Forgive me if I neglected you earlier. Please . . . ?"

The elevator bumped to a standstill. They were back in Runway offices alone together.

A normal grumpy person might have been pacified, but Miranda had a fire inside her which was not to be easily quenched. She took Andrea's hand and dragged her along to the Editor's suite.

"You think by batting your eyelashes at me and pretending to be little Miss Innocent that you can get round me. But you can't. Going off with sundry police women, collecting young men like bees round a honey –pot! And what about that chef you live with? Why do I have to put up with it all? It's unbearable. Just because you know I won't . . . "

"Won't what?"

They were standing by Andy's desk. All the lights of the city twinkled below them. There was a crackle of lightning ripped across New York from Brooklyn to Queens, immediately followed by a deep rumble of thunder. The storm was directly overhead.

Miranda's voice dropped. She looked out of the window. "Fire you, as I should, for extreme insubordination"

"But I'm not insubordinate. I am just such a good assistant. I don't deserve to be fired! I love … "The unspoken pronoun hung between them, but they both knew what it was.

They stood, lit by the thunderstorm, two beautiful women, locked in combat. They both knew they were squabbling over hardly anything at all, but underneath this was a fight for emotional survival. The stakes couldn't be much higher. Their eyes met. Miranda broke first.

She grabbed Andy by the shoulders and kissed her on the mouth, hard and possessively. It felt like the Norman Conquest to Andy, but oh so sweet as well. She kissed back and refused to let go of Miranda's mouth until she had to, to come up for air. "I'll leave if you really want me to," she breathed against her cheek.

Miranda turned her so that Andrea's back was against her desk, her hands bracing herself behind.

"No, you're not going anywhere. I won't let you out of my sight," and before Andy had realised what she was doing, Miranda had taken up the hand-cuffs on the desk behind her and slipped one over Andrea's left wrist. It closed tightly with a satisfying clunk. Miranda held firmly to the other end, and tugged her close.

Andrea struggled against her, then realised the perfect countermove. With her free hand she seized Miranda's right arm and then pulled the hand-cuffs from her grasp. She could feel the open second bracelet, and clicked it shut over her boss's right wrist. They were now equally compromised.

"Got you." She whispered.

"No. I've got you!"

"Maybe we've got each other."

There was silence. Nothing else mattered. They kissed again, for long slow seconds, then Miranda murmured,

"Let's finish this at home. Roy is waiting. "

Andy smiled, her eyes shone with arousal and relief.

Miranda's bad mood had dissipated, now the crisis was over and she had tasted Andrea's mouth.

"Let's just unlock ourselves, then we can go."

Andy looked a little thoughtful.

"Hmm, there may be a small problem about that. Don't be angry Miranda, but I didn't actually see any keys in the box. In fact now I think of it. I know I didn't."

"Whaaat?"

The silence this time was not romantic. Nor was it restful. Andy looked down at their two contrasting hands. She slowly reached out and squeezed Miranda's beautiful slim fingers with her own.

"Miranda, I think we might just be a little cuffed up here."

The lightning and thunder crashed over their heads, and then the rain started.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

It took a while for the implications fully to sink in. Miranda's right hand was firmly shackled to Andrea's left. They instinctively tried to pull apart, which automatically tightened the wrist shackles.

"Ow!"

"How dare you do that to me?"

"You did it first."

"I could wring your neck."

"No you couldn't. You'd need two hands. Let's look in the box again. There must be a set of keys somewhere."

But even when they'd turned the box completely out and shaken it, no hand-cuff keys emerged. They were coupled together as if they were conjoined twins, facing each other in the heat. The air-con was switched off for the weekend. Outside the window the rain began to pelt down, sheeting past them in a tropical downpour.

Miranda decided she had to start behaving like an adult in the situation, and stop unfairly sniping at Andrea. It wasn't the girl's fault. The only trouble was, she badly needed to pee. And if they couldn't unfasten themselves in reasonable time, Andrea would have to assist her with even more activities that were far from appropriate or decent.

"What should we do?" Andrea began to be seriously worried.

Miranda's beautiful face blushed. "First things first. Let's call Roy and tell him we may be a little longer up here than we thought. Meanwhile I need the bathroom. "

"Oh whoops. I….?!"

"Come on, you'll just have to cope with it. I've given birth to twins, and there's nothing more undignified than that. "

Andrea had the extremely bizarre experience for the next five minutes of accompanying Miranda to the bathroom, and helping her pull down her underwear with one free hand, while she sat on the potty and took a long pee. She tried not to look, but helpfully passed the toilet paper.

Miranda pulled her underwear up and smoothed her ball gown down. They both washed their hands together. The hand-cuffs were beginning to be seriously annoying.

Miranda reached for some paper towels and dried both their hands. "You realise we can't change back into normal clothes. We won't be able to get our arms through the sleeves".

Andrea's face showed her mental struggle with knot theory. "My phone is in my purse. Let me call Roy now and tell him. He will know what to do."

"I am not letting my driver see me in this ridiculous situation. There must be another answer. Look, we'll go back down with a scarf or something wrapped round our wrists. It's dark. He probably won't notice. We'll say there wasn't time to change. Just to take us back to the house."

Andrea wasn't convinced.

"And what then?"

"We'll find a way through it. We're not stupid."

Given their current state of affairs, Andrea thought that might be debatable. She fished around in her purse for her phone, and called Roy.

"Hi Roy. . . .Yes, we're fine. We'll be down in five minutes. . . . No, she's well. We just have one or two little things to do." Roy said something else, which Miranda couldn't catch. "No, no, that was nothing…..Yes, thanks. That would be great."

"He says he'll come over to the foyer with a large golf umbrella. But he says to wait for a few moments until the rain lessens. It's cats and dogs out there at the moment."

"Did he ask if the dragon had stopped breathing fire?"

"No…oo., and why would he? Everyone knows you are really a pussy-cat. You just need feeding. Low blood sugar. Hey, I have a chocolate bar in my desk drawer you can have."

Andrea pulled her grumpy goddess a little towards her and produced a large bar of nutty milk chocolate candy from the drawer. The silver foil wrapper needed opening which took both their free hands to achieve.

"Look, you hold it and I'll unwrap it."

"I disapprove of junk food in the office."

Andrea snapped off a couple of chunks and fed them into Miranda's mouth, effectively silencing her. "Good eh? Have some more."

Miranda swallowed and bit again. Her teeth were perfect. Andrea adored her.

Miranda's shackled hand crept round behind Andrea and grasped her backside. Andrea's hand was forced to go with her, but it was nothing if not seductive. She felt herself pulled in tightly against the older woman, crushed against the lame' material of her dress, breathing in Miranda's perfume.

"I'm ashamed I got us into this mess," whispered Miranda. Andrea sought her mouth and kissed her very gently. The dragon was disarmed. She tasted of chocolate and love.

"Don't be ashamed," Andrea responded, when she could. "I am having such fun. I've never done bondage before."

Miranda chortled. "Darling, this is not what bondage is about. This is a farce."

Andrea changed the subject. "How do you get your perfume to stay so strong and so wonderfully heady all day and night? It smells divine."

"I go through a bottle a month. Just pour it on. Another of my stupid extravagances."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"I can't guarantee much sleep, but I think sharing a bed might be a necessity. "

"Then I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

"The rain is slackening off some. Let's make a run for it."

They gathered all their clothes and bags into a pile which effectively disguised what their hands were doing, and went down in the waiting elevator. By the ground floor, Andrea had fed Miranda the rest of the chocolate. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Roy met them at the door and tried to help with the bags of clothes but the women both resisted.

"We're fine. Let's just get out of the rain."

They jumped into the car one after the other, surprisingly agile, and obviously on much better terms than he had left them. They sat very close together on the wide seat. He pushed his cap back on his forehead and shook out the umbrella before putting it beside him in the front. There was now a silence from behind him.

When they reached Miranda's home, he helped them out and sheltered them under the umbrella to the front door, but they were both pretty wet. Miranda was fumbling for her keys.

"Here, let me," and he took the keys from her hand, opened up the door and reached inside to de-activate the alarm. "

"Do you want me to wait to take Andy home?"

"No, not necessary. She'll be staying here overnight. She has some essential tasks to fulfil. "

"Oh, fine. Do you need me tomorrow then?"

"No Roy, you take Sunday off with your wife. I expect I'll be tied up most of the day. "

He tipped his cap, and disappeared into the storm.

As soon as the door shut, Andrea rocked with spasms of the laughter she'd been holding in.

"Oh Miranda, I don't mind. You can fire me, or put me in a box and throw me in the Hudson when this is all over, but this will always be the best day of my life. You are so funny!"

Miranda dripped over her immaculately tiled front hall floor. Her eyes flashed.

"Yes, that's all I aim to do each and every day, amuse my minions. Look, it's late. We can't do anything about this …situation….tonight and we need to get out of these wet things. Come on upstairs. I'll give you a bed sheet or something to wear, and we'll find a solution tomorrow morning."

She had thrown all their bags onto the floor, and unceremoniously pulled Andrea into the kitchen where she tugged two bottles of Pellegrino water from the fridge, and a bowl of cherries and doughnut peaches.

"Something to snack on. The candy bar did make me feel more human, but we will doubtless need something to sustain us later."

Andrea took the bowl, and asked a silent question. "?"

"Darling, you don't imagine I'm going to be chained to you all night without taking advantage of it? I am a woman to be feared, and pragmatism is my middle name."

Andrea could think of several other ideas for Miranda's middle name. But then she met her eyes, and wanted to melt into them.

"It takes a lot to frighten me," she murmured. "Are you really that scary? Is this to do with those tasks you mentioned to Roy?"

"Come and find out," said Miranda. And they went upstairs to her bedroom.

But it took longer than Andrea expected actually to get between the sheets. Miranda was a fiend about removing make-up, and insisted on doing it for both of them.

"It's easier like this. I have the wipes. You hold the bottle of cleanser."

They had both unzipped themselves from their highly expensive, classically designed bustier dresses, and hung them off the ground against the door. The dry cleaning firm would have much to do to restore them to perfection, for the hems of both were drenched and stained with the assorted grime from their short exposure to the streets.

If the dresses had been sleeved, Miranda knew they would either have had to wear them to bed, or cut themselves out with a pair of scissors, so she was grateful for one small relief. Tomorrow's wardrobe choices remained a challenge she wasn't ready to meet just yet.

Under her gown she had chosen the smallest underwear possible, which now left nothing to the imagination, but she draped herself round Andrea completely brazenly. Touching Andrea was becoming addictive. As she smoothed away the younger woman's eye shadow and mascara, she couldn't resist kissing her behind her ears. It tickled and made Andrea squirm, but Miranda held her captive and refused to stop the torture until she gasped and begged for mercy.

When she had stripped Andrea's face of all make-up and kissed off her lipstick, she began to dismantle her hair design with one hand, pulling out the clips and undoing the braids.

"It held up so well," said Andrea, gazing at both their faces in the mirror. Miranda looked as hot as hell, and very predatory. She sure wasn't your normal hairdresser. "Thank you. You're right, you are certainlygood with hair."

Miranda said nothing, but spread Andrea's hair out over her shoulders and let it tumble down her back. She brushed all the hairspray out with long, smooth strokes until it rippled and bounced under her fingers. Next she unclipped Andreas's bra with her free hand, and pulled it away. She cupped the exposed breasts with both hands, pulling Andrea's hand into the movement, and placing it against her own body.

"You're like a wood nymph."

Andrea moaned. "I adore you too, Miranda. Can we make love now though, in bed? Please!"

"Oh very well, if you must." Miranda pretended to sound resigned to that fate, but her hands were everywhere she could reach without contorting Andrea into a spiral.

"Oh sorry, but I just need to pee first. Your tickling didn't help."

"For pity's sake!"

They repeated their earlier expedition to the nearest bathroom, but with Andrea seated this time. Miranda distracted her by removing her ear-rings and fondling her ears. Then they repeated the washing of hands ritual, and cleaned their teeth together as well.

Never since she'd been a toddler had Andrea performed her toilet routines in such close proximity to another human being. It was all intensely arousing and she could feel the heat emanating from both their bodies. Her breasts began to rise and fall, as her breathing deepened, and she could see that Miranda's pupils had dilated until her eyes looked like a feral cat's in the moonlight.

"Come to bed," said Miranda, "I'm not waiting all night," and with a certain amount of pushing and pulling, that's where they finally ended the evening.

Miranda's bed was vast, but they made a nest in the center of the mattress. The summer weight comforter was thrown back, and the idea of wrapping themselves in sheets for modesty's sake was immediately discarded as impractical.

The air conditioner unit purred discreetly in the background, as Andrea gave herself up to the various delicious tasks Miranda began to set her. The night was young, but it soon grew into something rather more grown-up. What the next morning would bring seemed a long, long way off, over the horizon of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

It was sometime after eight when Andy woke on Sunday morning. Her two immediate sensations were of the tight metal shackle on her wrist, which was beginning to leave a painful bruise, and Miranda's lovely head, deep in slumber, laid on her shoulder. The second feeling was much more pleasant than the first. Their two bodies were fused together in a lovers' knot of entwined limbs, and the one pillow remaining, the only one not tossed to the bedroom floor in the night, was wedged under her hips.

Andrea smiled as she remembered the reason why Miranda had used the pillow to tip up her hips. Despite all their constraints, or maybe because of them, Miranda had taken full advantage of a more than willing lover in her bed. There wasn't an inch of Andrea's skin which had not been kissed, or sucked, or nipped, and her own mouth was swollen through hours of lovemaking. She remembered Miranda at one point sitting on top of her, and then falling backwards as she had pulled her over with the handcuffs. They had laughed, and wept a little at one point, and climaxed together in a way Andrea had never dreamed possible. Miranda was a skilled lover. She was also very imaginative, and extremely athletic. Their mini-Olympics had lasted more than two hours, and the water and bowl of fruit had been consumed at half time.

But now she slept, and Andrea didn't have the heart of wake her, even though the light was bright behind the window blinds and time for action had more than come. As Andrea considered their options, the choices seemed very limited. They had to get released. This had to involve either a really good friend with a pair of bolt- cutters, or the emergency services.

Andrea thought about Nate. She could not see him coming across the city on Sunday morning to physically prise his girlfriend apart her from her lesbian dominatrix, which is exactly how he would view Miranda. Besides, he was still a hundred miles up Long Island. It would late afternoon before he was due to roll into town. Far too late.

Nigel, maybe Nigel could come? He would not spill the beans, but he would never let them forget it either. They might never live it down. But anyway Nigel was still in Canada, extending his business trip to go off on a friend's yacht for a few days. Emily? Andrea's vivid powers of imagination could not even go there!

Then Miranda began to stir. She nuzzled Andrea's neck, and muttered, "Coffee, where's my coffee?"

"In your dreams, sorry, unless there's a coffee maker in your bedroom. Otherwise you'll have to come downstairs to make it with me I'm afraid."

Miranda stretched like a cat and pulled Andrea's left arm out to follow her as she did it, then she wrapped herself back round them both, and replaced her head on Andrea's breast. "Hmm, Sunday morning. Girls are having fun no doubt up at Lake Winniewherever. Nothing to worry about . . . ." She seemed almost inclined to go back to sleep.

"Miranda!" Andrea felt the need for some urgency here. "We must unshackle these cuffs! Soon!" Have you got any wire cutters or heavy shears in the house?"

"Don't be silly. Why would I want anything like that?"

"To cut off the hand-cuffs chaining you to me, your compliant but anxious second assistant."

Miranda shook her head just a fraction, and kissed Andrea's left nipple. .She liked the way, even after its long night's exertions, it could still harden under her mouth. "Oh no, I've made a decision about that. I am staying attached to you for life. It was far too much fun last night. I'm never releasing you. "

"Miranda! Stop Teasing! We can't stay like this much longer."

"Oh, what a little kill-joy. Where's your spirit of adventure?"

"Stop it now! And stop having me for breakfast."

"Only if you say you love me."

"Miranda! For heaven's sake. Ow!"

"Do it. Otherwise we will definitely be staying here for ever."

"Well, I do feel quite close to you, and you have taught me a lot."

"Andrea Sachs! Say you love me now, or I shall tickle you until you do."

This was frightening. Miranda always followed through with her threats. Andrea caught her left hand and pulling it to her mouth, ran her tongue over the knuckles very gently. "Well just to stop that idea, and get us moving, I will admit, under duress . . . that yes, I might love you to the ends of the world and back. In fact I might say you excite me, enthral me and I think just looking at your beautiful body is the most dangerous threat to my sanity right now. In fact I've decided ….. I do love you beyond all sense and reason"

Andy punctuated her last nine words with kisses against Miranda's mouth.

"Satisfied?"

"I suppose so. It will have to do for now."

Miranda released her and ran her hand through her silver hair so it stood up in a bit of a bird's nest.

"Let's get up then. And so, what do you propose we wear? "

"We can make sheet togas, like Roman ladies, tied over one arm."

"Don't be silly. I've just remembered I have some strappy tops which tie on the shoulder. We can wear them and look almost normal."

Andrea snorted. "I'm not sure about normal. - Do you want to shower before or after coffee?"

Miranda looked as if this was a major decision.

"Coffee first. Then I might have the strength to supervise your showering. You know, make sure you aren't missing anywhere"

"You are a bit bossy, you know. I never realised it before."

Miranda pulled her robe on, so that it draped across her body and left one shoulder naked in a very seductive way. She looked gorgeous, but then she would have looked wonderful in a plastic bag. She opened a closet and pulled out another robe for Andy. "Here you are, wear that, and you can put some underwear on, for now." A pair of lace panties were thrust into her hands. Then Miranda noticed the bruising on Andy's wrist.

"Oh, my poor darling. I must have done that to you, hauling you about on the bed. I am so sorry."

She turned Andrea's hand upwards and softly kissed the inside of her wrist. Andrea flinched, not from pain, but from arousal. It was incredibly seductive.

"I'm sure you will also have bruises."

"Perhaps in less public places. I shall wear them with pride."

"Come on, let's face it. We only have a short window of time before the world comes knocking. But I think I know someone who can help us out of these."

And Andy pulled her hand-cuffed mistress downstairs to make coffee and get through some other essential morning activities.

"Really Andrea, I am not exposing myself to your police woman."

"You won't be exposing yourself. You'll be dressed, and I am sure she knows how to be the soul of discretion. Besides she's gay. She'll be used to keeping things under wraps. "

"How do you know she's gay?"

"She told me. I think she assumed I would be on her wavelength."

Miranda was drinking coffee, but her eyebrows shot up.

"Don't get upset. She has a partner. She was telling me all about her girlfriend."

"That sounds more concerning. Did she by any chance then tell you her girlfriend didn't understand her?"

"No! Really. Look Miranda, be nice. Let me at least call her and ask her advice."

"It'll be all over the police computer network. I'll be ruined. Your parents will probably prosecute me for kidnapping, false imprisonment and sexual battery when they find out."

"No, I'll ask her to come unofficially. She might be free, on a Sunday. Do you have any better solutions?"

Miranda couldn't think of any of her friends, acquaintances, or neighbours whom she could ask without complete mortification. She shook her head. As they had been coupled for the last twelve hours, she was intimately close to Andrea, and wanted now simply to cuddle her, put her head on her shoulder, and maybe just cry. Her hormones started to play up. It was all getting too much.

Once they had reached the kitchen she had at least managed to call the twins without disgracing herself and sobbing down the phone. They were having a great time apparently, with kayaking seeming to be next on the agenda for their first full day in camp. She realised how much she missed them, and two weeks would be a long time. She seriously hoped neither of her girls would drown.

"Don't feel too lonesome, Mom," had urged little Caroline. "What are you doing today?"

"Oh, I thought I might ask Andrea my assistant round for lunch, you know, just a working lunch."

"On a Sunday? Mom! Don't be so hard on her. We like Andy. She's the best assistant you've ever had. Not like that snobby Emily."

"I won't. Yes she is. I'm glad you like her."

"Must go, Mom. Love ya!" and Cassidy joined in, "Yeah, love you Mommy."

And they were gone.

Andrea had toasted two large bagels and found some smoked salmon and cream cheese in the refrigerator while Miranda was on the phone.

"Here, don't be sad, Eat this. The kids are obviously having a great time, and haven't broken anything yet. While you munch, I'm going to call Sal."

Miranda obediently ate her breakfast. She was very prone to blood sugar spikes and dips, and knew that most of her irrational flashes of anger were usually due to an empty stomach. As in so many ways, Andy knew just how to meet her most basic needs. When they were cut apart, how would she make it happen so they stayed together? She couldn't bear even to think about all the obstacles to it becoming a reality. Saying you loved someone was easy when you were twenty-four, and Andy was theoretically in a stable relationship with a young man for God's sake. Miranda felt nothing if not conflicted.

Andrea took a deep breath and pushed the buttons to reach Sal McCarthy. This would sure take some explaining. Miranda could only hear one side of the conversation.

"Hi Sal, yes it's me. How ya doing?

"Hmm, yes, I'm fine.

"No, she didn't. It was fine.

"Yes, I was sorry too."

"The thing is, we have a bit of an emergency here . . .

"No, no storm drains involved, though after last night's rain. . ."

"Yes, I can imagine you've been busy downtown. . . "

"Anyway, this is an emergency, but it can't be official . . . I need your help as a friend, with special knowledge though."

(Obviously questions were being asked here.)

"Well, my boss and I have got ourselves in a bit of a pickle here."

"We were . . . fooling around, and have ended up handcuffed together.

(Long response here.)

"…..and we can't unlock ourselves!

(Longer response.)

"How long? All night."

"Yes, I know.

"Are you off duty this morning? Could you come round and help us get them off? It has to be just between us though. We can't afford to let this get out into the media."

"Worth your while? . . . .

(Worrying response time.)

"Sure. That will happen. I'll text you the address.

"Yes, I know it is a super swanky zip code."

"Thirty minutes? Fantastic!"

"Yes, we'll be here. I will . . . . We aren't going anywhere soon. Bye."

Andrea finished the call and looked relieved. Miranda felt angry.

"So she wants hush money then? Should I get my cheque book ready?"

"No, Sal's not like that, she was just laughing so much, she nearly fell over. She just wants to meet you in the flesh, and see what the attraction for me is. Why I dumped her to run over to you on Friday evening."

"Hum. She'll see too much flesh if we don't get dressed properly. Did you say she'll be here in half an hour?"

"Yes. I think we'll have to skip the shower vaudeville act and just get decent."

So they did.

When Sal pushed her finger hard against the doorbell, they were ready and waiting. Miranda had loaned Andrea a pair of cargo pants, (unworn, she must have been given them by someone foolish enough to think she'd ever wear them.) and a fetching vest top with neat bows on the shoulders. They had taken some struggle to tie up with shackled hands, but she'd at least found her strapless bra on the bedroom floor which covered her boobs very decently.

Miranda looked similarly organised. The hot weather, even after the rain, made strappy tops and minimal clothing appear normal. She had even managed to make up her face and eyes as though nothing had happened overnight to dishevel her, and her hair, brushed and sprayed, knew better than to misbehave. But with Andrea's wrist before her every time she raised her right hand, she could see the bruising and red soreness clearly worsening.

"Come here. Let me wrap it for you and put some arnica on it."

She had smoothed some cream on the bruises and wrapped a small silk scarf round Andrea's wrist like a bandage. "Hold that end. Right. Sorry." She bent her head and used her teeth to tighten the bow.

"What about_ your_ wrist? Doesn't it hurt?"

"Slightly. It will serve as a reminder not to be such a bloody idiot in future."

"You're not an idiot. I love you."

"Don't mess my lipstick up."

"Lipstick, on a Sunday morning? You _are_ an idiot."

Then the doorbell went again, and they rose to meet their Rescuer.

Sal bounced in like a friendly mastiff. She was dressed for the heat this time, with cut-off denim shorts, and long brown strong legs disappearing into builder's boots. She wore a sleeveless denim shirt and her short dark hair was already damp with sweat.

"Well, you two guys are in a fix, eh?"

Miranda wasn't at all sure if she wanted to be called a guy. She didn't want to provoke the policewoman however, not knowing just how enthusiastic she might be at pursuing arrest notches on her gun. Maybe she would see Andy as a victim here. It wouldn't be too far a stretch of the imagination.

Andy led the discussion.

"We are so grateful, Sal. I can't tell you, giving up your Sunday and all! I see you've bought some equipment. Great."

Sal was carrying a carrying bag of maintenance tools, which she put on the kitchen floor.

"Here, let me look at those cuffs."

She took their conjoined hands and held them both gently. She frowned, and then turned them over.

"I can tell you one thing for free here ladies."

"What?"

"These certainly aren't police issue handcuffs. Not ones used in the force during the fifteen years I've been a cop anyway!"

"So you haven't got keys to fit them?"

"Nope, and no-one else will either. Look."

All three women looked in detail at the keyholes in the cuffs. They actually weren't keyholes at all, just decorative fakes. There was no way the cuffs would be openable with keys.

"What the blazes . . . !"

Then it dawned on Andy.

"Of course, they were from a theatre property box! They must be mock cuffs designed for a drama scene. Why didn't I twig that last night?"

But Miranda tugged at their constraints to demonstrate her next point. "Fake or not, they are completely tight. We can't get them off."

Sal, who was having such a good time at their discomfort, then put her sensible patrol officer head on.

"There will be a quick release way of releasing them. No-one would use cuffs on stage which can't be opened. Health and safety if nothing else. We just have to find the right way to do it."

Miranda and Andrea sat at the kitchen table, and let her do the manipulation. For a large girl she had very dextrous hands. She slowly pressed anything which looked like a release button or a catch, and then taking both hands she squeezed each cuff inwards, until she heard a click.

"You need to do both at once. See."

As if by a miracle, the handcuffs fell off both their wrists simultaneously and clashed onto the table. They were set free! Andrea flung her arms in the air and did a little whooping war dance round the kitchen. Miranda sat very still, rubbing her liberated wrist quietly. She then took Sal's hand and squeezed it in appreciation.

"Thank you so much. So simple. How stupid I was not to realise."

"But you weren't to know. How could you? There should have been instructions with them in the box. Quite dangerous really, without that."

"At least we've only had one night tied up together," said Andrea. "Excuse me for a few minutes. I think I need the bathroom," and she disappeared to the downstairs facilities.

Miranda and Sal looked at each other, aware of all the horrible things which might have happened if they hadn't been released. Sal grinned.

"Well Ma'am, only too pleased to be of service. And don't worry, this goes no further. I am definitely not on duty today. Though I bet Andy was a sweet thing to be tied up with all night eh? I'm almost jealous."

Miranda just gazed at her. Her heart was too full to say anything flippant, but she knew they shared a conspiracy which gay women the world over would understand.

"Not jealous though . . . I did worry slightly?"

"No, you're safe with me. I can see it in both your faces. There's no room for anyone else there just now. But you do want to get a ring on her pretty finger soon. If anyone took her clubbing, she'd be eaten alive"

Andy bounced back in the room. She put an arm round each of them.

"What are you saying? Was it about me, and my genius for finding talented and helpful police officers when they're needed? How about a coffee, Sal, or an iced drink? "

"No, I'll get on. We're supposed to be working on the yard today. Would you like me to take these items away and dispose of them?" She picked up the cuffs and swung them.

"Oh God yes, please do!" sighed Miranda. "I never want to see them again. Even though they provided the way to . . ."

Sal laughed. "So will you be following up the story on the storm drain baby still? It will be old news when your magazine comes out."

Miranda said, "Yes it will, but I'd love to keep your details, and use you in a photo sheet maybe, you and your partner alongside some of my models. It could look most effective."

"But with no handcuffs?"

"No, I've learned my lesson on that one."

They escorted her out, and waved her down the steps.

Miranda squeezed Andrea's waist.

"Why don't you follow her up with another idea? Write a piece about her work, a day in the life of a street cop in New York, through a long hot summer, or something similar. I would use it if you wrote it as well as those college rag pieces you showed me."

"You would? Oh Miranda, how lovely. I really _will_ love you for ever if you do."

"It's all cupboard love after all then?"

"Oh yes, of course."

Then followed much kissing, until they found themselves slowly drifting back upstairs to the cool of the air-conditioned bedroom, and the deep contentment of Miranda's bed.

Dealing with the fall-out from their affair could wait until the working week resumed on Monday. But whatever happened, Andrea knew her heart was permanently chained to Miranda's from now on, just as surely as if their hands were still captured together in a set of handcuffs with no key.


End file.
